


your body will haunt mine

by wollfgang



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Sex, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kissing, Now With A Second Chapter, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Sexual Tension, dont try and apply logic to this okay, just enjoy it, luciferprompts fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wollfgang/pseuds/wollfgang
Summary: “I have an idea," Chloe says suddenly, sounding grave.He's only half turned towards her when she's upon him, attacking the buttons of his shirt.“What are you doing?” he asks, alarmed.“They never got a good look at us. Who’s going to think twice at a couple having sex in their hotel room?” she asks, backing him up slowly towards the bed.Lucifer chokes on air. “I’m sorry, I didn't quite get that. It almost sounded like you said, ‘having sex’.”* now with a second chapter of Very Resolved Sexual Tension





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know what this is, im sorry
> 
> Prompt: Lucifer and Chloe have to pretend having sex to prove their legend during a case. Dry humping only add fuel to Lucifer's desire. (Via luciferprompts on tumblr)

Things are bad, even Lucifer can admit that. Perhaps he shouldn't have persuaded the Detective to investigate without backup. Maybe they should have at least told Daniel what they were doing. 

Now they're being chased through the hotel by men who are most _definitely_ a part of the Mob and almost certainly trying to silence them after what they heard. 

They’ve escaped from the lobby, and hurtle up the stairs, Lucifer reaching back for Chloe’s wrist when his longer stride threatened to separate them. They exit the stairway and into a hallway with rows of rooms. 

He doesn’t pause, continuing forward.

“Lucifer,” she says as they skid around a corner. 

“Yes, dear?” he replies absently, mind spinning as he tries to calculate a getaway. 

“Lucifer!” she tugs at his arm to get his attention. The staircase door bangs open nearby. The both of them flinch at the sound.

Fuck. They've been found. 

“Open the door,” Chloe says urgently, pressing up against the closest room. 

“What?” he says a bit blankly. 

The men are shouting, getting closer. Panic starts to fizzle in his blood. 

“Do your - your thing! The unlocking thing! Open the door!” she tells him almost frantically. 

“Right,” he replies. He surges forward and gets his hand on the door latch. Chloe doesn't even comment on how after a moment the little light turns impossibly green, despite the fact he doesn't have a key card. She shoves it open and pulls him inside. 

The room is blessedly empty, only the sounds of their breathing filling up the space. Chloe pushes her ear up against the door to listen. 

Lucifer can hear them easily. The men pause nearby. “They've got to be here somewhere,” one says. 

“Spread out! Someone get a staff key. They're in here, I know it.” 

“Shit,” Chloe swears quietly. 

His stomach sinks. “I'm so sorry, Detective. Seems I've landed us in quite the predicament,” Lucifer murmurs, contrite. 

“It's not your fault, Lucifer. I can make my own decisions, too. I shouldn't have let my pride get in the way.” 

Lucifer steps away from the door and examines the room. It's nice, there's a single window from which they could try to escape, though they are on a floor that’s high up enough to make that seem too risky to be viable. Still, with certain death on one hand and _possible_ death on the other, the window is starting to look promising. 

“I have an idea,” Chloe says suddenly, sounding grave. 

He's only half turned towards her when she's upon him, attacking the buttons of his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, alarmed. 

“They never got a good look at us. Who’s going to think twice at a couple having sex in their hotel room?” she asks, backing him up slowly towards the bed. 

Lucifer chokes on air. “I’m sorry, I didn't quite get that. It almost sounded like you said, ‘ _having sex_ ’.” 

“Have you got a better idea?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“No,” he admits.

She hesitates. "If this isn't okay with you I'll come up with something else,” she says, eyes serious.

He sighs exaggeratedly. "I suppose I can suffer through sex with you, Detective." But he can't help but grin a little.

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, but there's something amused in the corner of her mouth. She's finished with his buttons and slides his shirt off with his jacket, letting them fall to the floor. Then she grips the bottom of her shirt and pulls it over her head. 

Lucifer stares. 

He's seen her before and in less. She’s wearing a bra now, black and functional, but his mouth goes abruptly dry all the same. She's gorgeous. 

“Not _real_ sex, Lucifer. Just pretend,” she chides, jarring him from his appreciation. “Hurry up and take your shoes off.” 

Chloe kicks off her boots and starts peeling back the sheets of the hotel bed. Lucifer briefly considers the possibility that the Detective has lost her mind, but toes off his shoes all the same. 

He distantly hears the men return and begin knocking on doors, opening the ones that don't respond. 

“Get over here,” she urges, as she slides under the covers. 

He does as she bids, settling too carefully over her, striving not to touch as he arranges his limbs. She half sits up to arrange the sheets over him, bringing her breasts tantalizingly close. He forces his eyes to look at the wall just over her shoulder. 

Right as his willpower starts to wane - he glances down at the soft slope of skin before its blocked by the edge of her bra - she deems it suitable. The sheets easily hide the fact they're not actually naked under them and she falls back. Her hair spreads out on the pillow under him and she gazes up with hooded eyes, looking like temptation itself. 

“This is a terrible idea,” he mutters. This can't end well.

“Oh, come on. It'll be fun. Like when Harry met Sally,” she says, voice a smidgen too casual. 

“Yes, yes, I've done this before,” he replies testily, delicately lowering himself, bringing them into contact. He's faked a time or two when a bed-mate's stamina simply couldn't keep up with his supernatural constitution and their vanity made them too determined to put off. 

She snorts. “Of course you have.” 

She pulls him closer and wiggles down a little so that his thigh is pressed firmly between her legs. They’re both still wearing pants - her jeans, his trousers - two layers of material apiece preserving the separation between them, but it’s still thin enough that he can feel the heat of her. He closes his eyes tightly, tries to breathe through it. 

“You alright?” she asks quietly. 

He nods. 

Then she closes her eyes and moans, and it's fake, _clearly_ , yet his stomach swoops with unexpected arousal. He ruthlessly smothers it as her eyes flick open and meet his. “Now, you,” she prompts. 

Very well. He makes a noise, low and wanton, eyelashes fluttering, and doesn't see the way Chloe's smile slides abruptly off her face. 

They listen briefly as the bad guys get closer. He's distracted, faraway footsteps loud in his ears, and doesn't see her start to move, a slow rolling rhythm. His lungs hitch. He grips at her waist, trying to ground himself, but his palm is met with the expanse of warm skin, the shift of muscle as she rocks against him. He relocates his touch to the safety of cool sheets. 

The men are getting closer, but he can hardly spare a thought for them, for the danger they're in, when Chloe is moving along the line of his leg in sweet little swivels. 

They fall easily into sync, a rise and fall pattern he is familiar with, but made new because it's with _her_. He's doing quite admirably, he thinks, keeping himself in check despite the delicious friction. Then she grinds against him with a small whine, the noise going straight to his cock. He growls. 

“Yes,” she gasps and her body jerks and, _bloody hell_ , if he didn't know better, he would think she really was getting off on this. Blood floods almost painfully southward and he jolts forward involuntarily. 

“Oh, _God_ ,” she says. He can barely register offense at the mention of his father, surely she can _feel_ him against her, his lapse in control. He tries to shift back a bit, get some space between them, but her leg wraps around his, toes pressing at his calf, and she arches her hips up.

Lucifer groans, not faked in the least, and she breathes hotly against his ear. “Chloe,” he pleads, ashamed and desperate. He throbs, low and insistent, trousers uncomfortably tight. 

“It’s fine,” she reassures breathlessly, running a hand down his back, the other gripping at his neck, pressing herself flush against him. He makes a strangled noise, because it’s not fine, none of this is fine _in the least_. They’re trying to escape getting captured by men hell bent on killing them by _faking sex in a hotel room_ and he’s harder than he’s _ever been in his_ \- 

She kisses him. 

His whole thought process stutters to a halt. She kisses him, licks her way into his mouth, bites at his bottom lip. 

He can't help but kiss her back, slanting his mouth against hers, feeling the full plushness of her lip between his teeth. She breaks the kiss to inhale sharply as they move together, hips snapping upwards. He doesn’t lament the loss, moving to nip at the edge of her jaw, press open mouthed kisses to the column of her throat. He’s wildly tempted for a moment to suck a bruise into her skin in a momentary lapse of sanity. 

She digs fingers into his hair and _tugs_ and oh, he likes that, likes the little sting of pain that accompanies it. He makes an approving hum. Her other hand finds a hold in the muscles of his back, digging nails in, delightful little pinpricks of sensation that she then drags down his spine. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears tersely. 

He distantly hears the faint clicking noise of the door being unlocked, but Chloe keens, high and needy, gripping at him, and his whole focus is on her. 

“Shit!” the man yelps and the door slams back shut. 

She freezes. “Wait,” she whispers and he halts completely, caught in the pantomime of a thrust, muscles held impossibly still. He pants as quietly as he can, trying to catch his breath. 

They can hear his buddies ask him what happened and then jeer at him when he answers. They continue down the hallway, laughing. 

They listen as the men outside stomp down the hall, talking about checking the upper floors, the sounds fading with distance. 

She lets out a relieved sigh. “They're gone.” 

It’s only because he’s looking right down at her that he sees the first flicker of discomfort flash across her face. 

Right.

He rolls off of her, onto his back, lungs still heaving with effort. He doesn’t look over at her as he pushes a palm against the front of his pants with a hiss, frustration and need coiling in his belly. Then he lets his hand fall away and stares up at the ceiling, unfulfilled.

“Lucifer,” she says sounding apologetic. 

He runs a hand down his face, rasping against his scruff. “I need a minute,” he says, hoarse. When she doesn’t move, he adds, “Make sure it’s clear.” 

She doesn't say anything as she slips out of the bed and bends over to fetch her shirt. She tugs it over her head and goes to the door. She peers first through the peephole and then sticks her head out into the hall. 

Lucifer tries to think of the terrible horrors of Hell, anything to get his mind off of Chloe and what they just did - _pretended_ to do. Once he's mostly wrestled himself back under control, he sits up. 

She's picking up his clothes and handing them to him, looking studiously down at the floor. Whether it's in an attempt to preserve what little dignity he has left or something else, he doesn't know. 

He slides his shirt on and buttons it quickly, not bothering to tuck it in, then puts on the jacket. He stands and takes a slow, steadying breath, willing his body to calm as much as it can. Then he walks gingerly over to his shoes and slips them on, meeting her at the door. 

She steps out into the hallway and he follows her. The door closes behind them with a too loud click in the silence. It sounds oddly final. 

He glances over at her, unable to help himself. Her mouth is kiss swollen and there's a hint of scruff burn where he trailed along her throat. Heat simmers low and persistent in his gut. He clears his throat and tries to think of other things. 

“Right,” he says. “Let’s go.” He strides purposefully down the hall towards the elevator. If the men are casing the stairs, it will be faster to take the lifts down. He presses the button repeatedly, impatient while Chloe stands quietly just behind him. 

He pushes inside the box the moment the doors part, hardly waiting for her to step into the elevator before he’s hitting the button for the bottom floor and getting the doors to close.

He now regrets choosing the elevator. There's no escape and she’s less than a foot away from him, the soft noise of her breathing beside him filling the small space. He inhales quietly and he can still smell her, a subtle, floral sort of scent that he normally wouldn’t have noticed before he had pressed his nose to her neck.

Heavens above, this is _agony_. He could retrofit Hell itself on this experience alone. 

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly. 

Lucifer forces himself to meet her eyes. “Of course,” he replies, smiling tightly. 

His response only seems to worry her. “I shouldn't have asked you to do that.”

“To do _what_ , Detective,” he says, wearing thin. His whole body still aches for her, unsated. “It was just pretend, like you said. So it seems like nothing happened at all, by my reckoning.” 

Chloe blinks, looking hurt. “Right.” 

“Wonderful.” His tone is flat. “Now, shall we continue on with the case?” he asks. He bolts the moment the doors part, unable to stand another moment looking at her without giving into temptation and pushing her up against the wall and ravishing her. 

He heads for the back of the lobby while keeping an eye out for suspicious men dressed in dark colors with gun shaped bulges under their jackets. He spots the exit and starts moving toward it, but she catches him by the wrist, because _of course_ she does. He comes to a halt, every fiber of his being pulled taut enough to tremble. 

“Lucifer, what's wrong. Talk to me, please,” she implores and he breaks. 

His self-control frays to the breaking point. “I don't want to talk,” he turns and growls, invading her space, though she doesn't retreat. In fact, she presses forward, meeting him until they're nearly chest to chest. “I want to have you halfway to ecstasy,” he nearly snarls, pent up tension boiling over. “I want to hear that delicious little noise you made because my mouth licked it out of you. I want to have you in my bed, against my sheets, saying _my name_.”

She's breathing hard, pupils blown. She swallows and then nods. “Okay,” she says. 

It feels like ice water dumped was over his head. “What?” 

Her gaze sharpens into a glare. “I said okay.”

Flummoxed, he takes a step back. She pursues him. 

“You think that you were the only one affected back there? God, the _sounds_ you make, Lucifer. You were being so careful, trying so hard to be a gentleman, when all I wanted was to take you apart,” she admits, voice shaking just slightly with intensity, her blue-green eyes electric. “So when I say okay, I mean ‘ _Okay,_ what time should I be at your place?’”

He stares at her in shock. “At your convenience, naturally,” he croaks. 

“Good. I'm glad we have that settled. Can we get out of the hotel filled with mafia hitmen now?” she asks, and she sounds exasperated, but her expression is warm. 

“Yes, at once,” he says and maybe he tugs her out of the hotel with a little more haste than usual. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its been ages since i wrote anything of a saucy nature, so hopefully it sounded alright ^^;
> 
> come yell at me about deckerstar on my [tumblr](http://thewollfgang.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, the lovely Aiobhlin was inspired enough to write a sequel, so check that out below!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'll - I'll see you later?” he asks cautiously.
> 
> “Tonight,” she corrects. 
> 
> “Tonight?” He blinks, taken aback. A slow anticipation curls in his belly. 
> 
> “Tonight.” 
> 
> The space between them decreases, like she might lean up and kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over a year later, the begged for second chapter. here's a few thousand words of unrepentant smut. enjoy ;)

The car ride back to the precinct is tense. He's doesn’t think it could really be anything else after - well, just after. Chloe has gone completely quiet and Lucifer vacillates between apprehension and arousal. 

He's not sure what to do with his hands. There's nothing different about them at all, but now they know the softness of her skin, the curve of her body. He clenches them into fists and says nothing. 

“Lucifer.”

He jerks to attention. Chloe is still looking out the windshield, focused on the road in front of her.

“Detective?” he asks, uncertain. 

“When we get back to make our report, I'd appreciate it if we kept...what happened out of it.”

He swallows. “Yes, of course. I'll do my best not to mention it.”

She gives him a quick, grateful smile and pulls into the parking garage. Paranoia starts eating at him. She wasn't unwilling, she had said that she wanted him. But...what did that really mean? Did she want him for the night? Or something more?

She didn't say. They didn't _talk_ about it and for once Lucifer wishes they had. The sound of Chloe shutting the car door startles him and he scrambles to exit the vehicle. 

Her pace is faster than normal and it makes him feel unwelcome, like she's trying to avoid him. He doesn't stretch his stride to catch up, but rather lets her go ahead. 

A debrief is quickly called, Dan and Ella joining them in a conference room. Chloe stands on the far end, away from him. 

Dan eyes them suspiciously. “What's up with you two?” 

Lucifer glares, indignant. “Forgive us if we're a bit rattled, Daniel. The hotel was infested with mafia men.”

“What?” His eyes immediately fall to Chloe, concerned. “You okay?”

She nods. “Yeah. It was close, though.”

Old habit forms a quip about _how_ close on Lucifer's tongue, but he swallows it. 

Chloe continues, “If I had to guess, it's the Abergil’s. They're the only ones with the manpower and the money to move this level of narcotics into LA.” 

“Shit.” Dan pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Given the level of purity of the drugs found on the victim,” Ella says, “And where he was killed, he might have been dealing for them.”

“So, is it the Abergil family cleaning house? Or is it a move against them?” Chloe wonders. 

“Chloe, you can't be serious,” Dan says. “You could be stepping into a gang war. This isn't our department.”

“What happened to your neck?” Ella asks suddenly, peering at Chloe. 

Chloe slaps a hand to her throat. “Nothing, it's nothing.”

“If you got hurt, you need to get it checked out,” Ella insists.

Lucifer takes a step forward. He hadn't realized the Detective had been harmed. Then he takes in her slightly flushed countenance and the placement of the scrape in question - and it clicks. That's where he’d kissed her, stubble rubbing against sensitive skin. 

“I'm not hurt, Ella. It's just a little scrape, okay? It's _nothing_.” Chloe won’t look at him.

He's relieved he hadn't given into the temptation to suck a mark there. There would be no denying it, then. Not that he wants her to deny it. He _doesn't_. It actually makes him feel like he's eaten something he shouldn't have, a little sick. 

Maybe he's gotten it all wrong. Maybe...maybe it _is_ nothing to Chloe. He swallows and steps back. 

Right. 

Ella doesn't look like she believes Chloe. “Are you sure you guys are okay? You're all...” She pulls a face. “Weird.”

“We're fine.” Her tone is sharp. Chloe gathers up the files. “I'm going back to my desk. Let me know if you uncover anything else.”

He's left there with Dan and Ella giving him curious looks. He clears his throat and follows the Detective out. She still doesn't look up at him when he carefully takes the seat next to her desk. 

“If the Abergils _are_ involved, Organized Crime is going to want their hands all over this.” She frowns. “As much as I hate to admit it, taking down an Israeli crime family might be a bit above our pay grade.”

Lucifer hesitates, unsure if the jape will be appreciated. “Speak for yourself, Detective. I'm not getting paid at all.”

She snorts at the joke and Lucifer feels a twinge of relief. Chloe stares at the files, glossy photos and case notes spread across her desk. Then, finally, she looks over at him. She meets his eyes and holds there for long enough that uncertainty curls in his chest. But he won’t break off their shared gaze. Instead, he merely raises his eyebrows at her. 

“Detective?” he asks. 

She must reach some decision, because she abruptly reaches for her phone and dials. “This is Detective Decker, I need a line to the Organized Crimes department.”

She's on the phone for some time after that. Lucifer feels restless, so he leaves to raid the vending machine and bothers Daniel until he gets smacked with a case file. He retreats, wounded, back to Chloe. 

She flashes him a quick, distracted smile. “I’m handing the case over, so there's no reason for you to stick around. It will just be a bunch of paperwork and talking.”

“Oh,” Lucifer says, feeling a bit stung. “I see.” He shifts his feet. “Well, I suppose if there's nothing more to be done today, I'll be going.”

“I'll walk you to your car,” Chloe offers. 

She walks side by side with him now and he's not sure if it means something. Dr. Linda would know, but now is not the best time to call for assistance. 

All too soon they reach his corvette and he digs into his pocket for his keys. “Right. Well, this is me,” he says.

She nods, looking down at his hand as he jangles the keys around. He makes a small leap of faith. 

“I'll - I'll see you later?” he asks cautiously.

“Tonight,” she corrects. 

“Tonight?” He blinks, taken aback. A slow anticipation curls in his belly. 

“Tonight.” 

The space between them decreases, like she might lean up and kiss him, but the horn sound of a car locking reminds them they aren't alone. She steps back, but her eyes are dark. Hope blooms in his chest. 

*

He drives back to Lux with more urgency than he'd like to admit to, giving Patrick a brief wave and immediately heading up to his apartment. 

First thing, he changes the sheets, opting for his nicest black silk set, meticulously smoothing out the wrinkles and tucking in the corners. He fluffs the pillows, cleans the penthouse until it’s more than presentable. 

Should he grab a towel? Is that presumptuous? He stands there for a moment, weighing it out, before darting into the bathroom for it. Better to have it on hand than to force someone to make a dash for one later. 

Finally, he forces himself to stop when he begins contemplating something as foolish as rose petals. He makes his way over to the piano and slides onto the bench. 

Bloody hell, he needs a drink. 

He gets up to fetch something from the bar and then freezes. Wait, no. He shouldn't be drinking. He sits back down, checks the time. He taps his foot a little and then shoots upright. Actually, no, he will have that drink.

The scotch doesn't settle his nerves like he wants it to, he'd have to drain the the whole bottle for that, maybe two, and then he'd not be in any shape to... Well, to properly engage in activities with the Detective. 

He checks the phone and still nothing. It's been hours now, and the LA nightlife has come alive around him. He tries to play a little, but nothing sounds right. Notes clang and the tempo is unsteady.

The sudden sound of the elevator rising causes adrenaline to shoot through his veins. He swallows and halts his poor attempt at playing, shifting to straddle the bench to wait for her arrival.

The doors open. “Chloe,” he says and musters up a smile. 

She's wearing the same thing she was when he saw her last, but it doesn't matter that she's not dressed up when she strides quickly over, takes his face in her hands, and bends down to kiss him soundly. 

His hands drift to her hips, steadying them. Her mouth is eager against his, her tongue slipping softly forward before retreating, teasing him into chasing. Her fingers drift from his jaw, down his throat, slipping past his open collar, her thumb resting on his pulse. Arousal courses hot and sudden through his veins. There's something electrifying and relieving to know that she's as hungry for this as he is. 

They break apart for just a moment, Chloe resting her forehead against his, sharing breath. 

“For a moment I thought you weren't -” He changes his sentence to avoid the innuendo. “That you'd changed your mind.”

She smiles like she knows what he'd almost said and nudges his nose with hers. “I didn't change my mind.”

“Oh. Well, good.” He feels like an idiot, tongue tied and fumbling. “And you're sure?”

“Yes.” Chloe reaches, her grip firm around his wrist, and presses his hand to her belly. He feels her take a deep breath, and he can't quite believe this is happening, that she's here, in front him, allowing him to, _wanting_ him to - and then she slips his hand past the waistband, down the front of her pants. 

He groans. “Darling,” he says on an exhale, leaning closer. “You’re positively _soaked_.”

She makes a strained noise, hips twitching. “I was thinking about you,” she says breathlessly, “I was thinking about this.”

Blood floods almost painfully southward, making him dizzy. _This_ , he knows how to do. The anxiety retreats a little, granting room for his resurging confidence. 

“For how long?” He presses the pads of his fingers against wet cotton. Her legs spread wider. Minutes? Hours? She shudders, eyes fogging over with desire. “For how long?” he asks again, since she seems a bit dazed. The slow stroking of his hand probably isn't helping.

“Since we left the hotel, since before, since - ah - since I saw you na- _oh_ , Lucifer.” 

“Did you imagine this?” he asks, “Me, touching you?”

She nods, the motion a little jerky. “Wondered what it would be like, your fingers, watched while you played piano.” 

Her sentences are fragmented, but it paints enough of a picture for his imagination. Chloe, sitting next to him, studying his hands, fantasizing without him even knowing. “Would you go home afterwards and touch yourself?” he asks her, dropping his voice low, gravelly. “Would you get off while thinking about me?” 

“I just - I need you to - please,” she says, desperate. Her fingers are bruisingly tight around his wrist. 

He edges past the barrier of her underwear and she inhales sharply. Her folds are hot and slick. He starts with small, little touches that keep her wanting more. Teasing her after she’s been left wanting for so long is a delicious sort of punishment. She bites at her bottom lip, pink flesh going white with the pressure. 

“Come now, Detective.” He no longer avoids the double meaning, but lingers over it. “You didn’t answer the question.” 

He slides his two fingers into her heat and crooks them. “ _Yes_ ,” she gasps. “Just like that.” Her body curves over him, her arm bracing against his shoulder, as he coaxes out her pleasure. 

The angle gives him a delicious view down her shirt, gravity lending an enticing shape to her breasts. He noses forward, places his lips to soft skin. Hot breath puffs at his temple and she shifts her hand to the nape of his neck, brushing the short hairs there lightly enough to make him shiver.

He pays careful attention to her responses. The soft whines that leak from her throat, what makes her breath hitch and her hips shift restlessly against his palm are all diligently noted. He learns how he can make her entire body jerk when he circles the edge of a calloused thumb where she's most sensitive. Then he puts it all into practice. 

Her breathing quickens, goes harsh and shaky. It's loud in the space between them. He curls his fingers inside her. “That’s it, Chloe,” he murmurs. “That's it.” 

“Right _there_ ,” she says a little frantically, her whole frame jolting, the grip on his hair tightening, one hand shooting out to the piano top in an effort to stay balanced. “Right there, right there.” 

He increases the pace, her body bearing down against his hand, her knees weakening. He can't see her face, she’s leaning too far into him, pressed almost cheek to cheek, but her breath is hot and fast against his neck. 

“Lucifff-” She gets caught in the fricative of his name as he rubs at her relentlessly, fingers pressing. “-fff _fuck.”_ And then she's coming, almost soundlessly, hand twisting into his hair, her mouth open, an edge of teeth graze the shell of his ear. 

He continues, soft caresses that make her tremble until she finally reaches down and stops his hand. He pulls back without complaint, fingers wet. Her eyes darken as she watches him bring them up to his mouth to catch at her taste. 

It's sharp and heady on his tongue and he closes his eyes to savor it, wonders if she'll let him lick it from the source. 

He's distracted from his thoughts as Chloe moves back to kiss him once, almost roughly. She abandons his mouth to start undoing the buttons of his shirt. 

There's a brief wave of deja vu, but there's no pretending between them now. As soon as she's got the shirt open, she's spreading her hands against his chest, sliding them down his abdomen until she reaches his belt. She hesitates for a moment and then her knuckles carefully graze where he's straining against the seam of his trousers. 

He clenches his jaw and fights the instinct to push into the feather light contact. He’d been so focused on her that his own need had taken a back seat, but her touch returns it in full force. Chloe turns her hand so she's cupping him, and slowly presses her palm down. 

“Chloe.” His hips lift involuntarily into the pressure. Her hands leave him and he doesn't know whether to be grateful for the reprieve or deprived. 

“Come on,” she says, pulling him to his feet. “I want you out of those clothes.”

He has no objection, letting his unbuttoned shirt slip off his shoulders while she unbuckles his belt, fingers drawing down the zip. He pauses for a moment when her clever fingers brush against him. 

He distracts her by starting to pull her shirt over her head. She grudgingly focuses on getting out of her own clothing while he kicks free of his trousers and peels off his socks. When he looks up, she's got her hands behind her back, undoing the hooks of her bra. She pulls it free and Lucifer tries not to swallow his own tongue. 

She doesn't even notice, wiggling out of her jeans and panties. He steps closer, wanting to touch, but not sure if he should. Chloe takes the question out of his hands by closing the space between them and slanting her mouth against his, no inhibition in her exploring. 

Sensing his reservations, she takes his hands and brings them up to her breasts, letting their weight settle in his palms. He squeezes, gently. Chloe hums, a soft sound of pleasure. Her fingers drift down, toy with the edge of his briefs, the one piece of clothing left between them. She carefully sneaks her hands inside and he has to give up on trying to maintain their kiss and focus on not falling off the edge then and there. 

She pushes his briefs down his legs far enough that gravity handles the rest and slowly runs the tips of her fingers up his cock, examining him. He twitches, powerless against her touch. It drives nearly every thought from his head.

At least one manages to make itself known, despite the haze. “Wait, wait,” he says, putting pressure on her arms to separate them. “Protection.” He reluctantly leaves her side to stride to his bedside table, uncaring of his nakedness, nearly wrenching the drawer off its tracks in his haste. He pushes a bottle of lube aside and plucks out a foil package. 

Chloe's hand is hot at the small of his back and he abruptly straightens. She’s followed him into the bedroom and now peers up at him, blue eyes dark and electric. 

“Can I?” she asks. 

He pauses, a low bolt of arousal sliding down his stomach. “If you like,” he manages. She takes the condom from him, opens it and reaches for him. The sight of her hot, little hands rolling latex down his length is enough to force him to take measured, calming breaths. 

She gives him a slow, firm, stroke. “You made this sound,” she says, “in the hotel room.” A repeat of the motion, but slower, has Lucifer choking out a groan. He's rewarded with a curl of her wrist. “Yes, that one. _Fuck_ , Lucifer.”

“Yes,” he inhales, battling against the urge to push into her grip. “Fuck me.”

“Bed,” she insists, “I’m not getting a crick in my neck.” 

He snorts and she pushes at him. He allows it to move him, falling back against his mattress. Watching her crawl on top of him, cautious with her knee placement, is better than any fabrication he could ever possibly dream. “This okay?” she asks and Lucifer can’t do anything more than nod desperately. She smirks before gripping him at the base and lining them up.

They both watch, Lucifer struggling to inhale, as she slips easily down onto him, all of him. Oh, the sheer incredible _heat_ of her. He clenches his jaw and Chloe takes a moment to adjust, hair falling forward, her hands braced on his waist. 

Then she lifts her head and meets his eyes and Lucifer is breathless for a different reason. She grins at him, a little giddy, like they're getting away with something and maybe they are. This moment in time, just the two of them. 

She leans forward to kiss him, nipping at his mouth. He shifts more upright, bracing his on his elbow, to tangle his hand in her hair. The change of angle causes her to gasp. Their kiss goes from light and teasing to open and sinful. She rocks her hips and oh - oh it’s so good. 

“Yeah?” Chloe asks with a smile and he must have said that last part aloud. His hands drift across her back to fall to her thighs, helping hold her in place as she lifts and drops. Chloe unexpectedly swivels her hips and tightens around him. His fingers dig in and he moans. “How's that?” she asks mischievously.

“Not fair,” he pants. “Come down here so I can kiss you better.”

“Here,” she says, “Sit up against the headboard, so I can -” 

He reaches back for the headboard in question, arm muscles coiling, and easily drags the both of them back against the pillows. His silk sheets are smooth enough for them to glide into her desired position. She stares at him, wide eyed.

“Show off.” But her appreciation of his arms did not go unnoticed. He grins, unrepentant. “Jesus, Lucifer,” she laughs, toes slipping a little as she re-seats herself. “How do you get any traction on these?”

“Practice.” He braces his feet and bucks. There’s more advantageous leverage for him like this where he can meet her fall with his rise. It seems to work more effectively for her and he watches the flush at her chest expand, slipping further than he was able to appreciate before. He nuzzles at it, presses a smattering of kisses to the soft, blushing skin, dips to flick his tongue against a peaked nipple. Her hand slips into his hair and gives a gentle tug as they find a rhythm that works for them both. 

“If you're still up for it later,” she says, slightly out of breath. “You can bend me over your piano.”

He thrusts helplessly upwards, strong enough to lift them both from the bed, a high, wanting sound caught in his throat.

She laughs a little at him, but it's not mean-spirited. “Would you like that?” she asks, swaying, back arching, keeping the low thrum of pleasure between them from lulling. He doesn't even know how she's so coherent. He ought to do something about that, if he weren't suddenly preoccupied with the fantasy she's offered him. 

“Yes,” he gasps. “Bloody _hell_ , Chloe.” 

He can see it now, her perfect round arse on display for him, her elbows braced on cool, black wood. Oh, he'd slide into her, press right up against her back. He'd watch her in the reflection, watch as she fell apart.

“You're going to ruin me,” he says. He's not going to be able to play the piano, sit on that bench, without thinking about it, about her. 

She digs her nails in and grins. “Good.”

He's surprised by how fun this is. Certainly, _he_ is always up for some amusement as part of his bedroom activities, but he hadn't expected Chloe to be downright playful. 

He noses along the slight redness of her neck where his stubble has scraped. A mark would be too much, he thinks, for now. Perhaps another time, on a night when she doesn't have to return to work in the morning. Still, he drags his teeth across her skin, an open kiss, and she shudders. 

He reaches between them to touch her, swollen and wet. He knows what she likes now, short little circles. Her fingers clench. Everything is narrowing, the tense spiral of pleasure constricting. Chloe has been reduced to mere sound, perfect little mewls that spur him even harder. His movement deepens, hips twisting as he slowly but determinedly, moving them nearer to climax. 

“Stay with me, love,” he urges, struggling to keep from tipping over the edge. He's close, but she's closer. He doesn't need his abilities to see that. 

“ _Lucifer_ ,” she groans and her muscles pull taut as she shakes against him. 

He growls, grabbing her hips and driving upwards, relentlessly chasing his own release and then she makes that _noise_ , that small cry that curls up at the back of her throat, and it pushes him over the threshold with a shout. 

They come down slowly, their breathing still ragged and fast. Lucifer moans a little as she slips off of him, rolling to the side. She pushes a hand through her sweat damp hair and shivers. A spark of pride flickers in him at how thoroughly debauched she looks. 

“All right?” he gathers enough sense to ask.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom.”

He nods. It allows him time to dispose of the condom and wipe himself off, glad that he’d grabbed the towel. He’s honestly not sure he could stand, his legs feel like jelly. The warmth of the covers beckons him and he pulls at them halfheartedly until he can successfully wiggle underneath. Drowsiness tugs at the edges of his mind and he’s nearly dozed off when Chloe returns. He comes back to awareness as she bends down to collect her clothes. Thoughts are slow to form, but then he registers what she's doing.

Panic causes him to bolt upright.

“Are you leaving?” he asks, trying to ignore the feeling in his chest that's oddly similar to being stabbed. 

She freezes. “Did you want me to?”

He's too emotionally vulnerable to attempt at misdirection. “No,” he says, voice raw. “But I would not make you stay against your wishes.”

She smiles. “Scoot over.”

Relief floods through him, strong enough to almost make him shake from it. She sets her clothes down on his bedside chair and he lifts the comforter so she can join him under the covers. Her blonde hair tickles against his skin as she rests her head against his chest. He knows that she can hear the way his heart still pounds.

“Hey,” she says, kissing just below his collarbone, tangling their feet together. “I'm not going anywhere.”

He nods, but he doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants, doesn’t know how to say that he doesn’t just want her for a night, but he wants everything else as well. It all clogs up in his throat, unvoiced. 

“I’d like to make you breakfast,” he says instead. 

“Tomorrow morning?” She gazes up through her lashes. 

“Every morning.” He’s glad at how little his voice shakes. 

She tucks her face into his neck, kisses him there, where his pulse flutters. He can feel her mouth stretch into a smile. “I’d like that.” She snuggles into his grip and he pulls her closer, unwilling to let her go.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [At Your Convenience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948555) by [Aiobhlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiobhlin/pseuds/Aiobhlin)




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